


Discorporate

by soongtypeprincess



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 10:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: “Darling, no.” He shook his head again. “I can heal you; just hold on! Please, hold on! For me!”





	Discorporate

A bolt of lightning flashed in the book shoppe window just as Aziraphale turned off the last light. A desperate pounding rapped on the shoppe door.

“We’re closed,” Aziraphale called out. “Come back tomorrow.” He went to pick up a random book from a pile by the register. “Or not…” he added, quietly.

The knocking came louder and Aziraphale huffed. “For goodness sake.”

He marched to the door and Crowley collapsed into him as soon as it was opened.

“Crowley? Oh, my dear boy. Are you alright?”

The only answer that came was a choking noise and Aziraphale slammed the door with his foot. He tried to carry Crowley to the back room, but he was much too heavy. 

Aziraphale couldn’t lift him with all of his divine strength and he dropped to his knees and cradled him. "It's pouring down; you must be freezing." No reply. "Crowley?" He wiped his damp hair away from his forehead and opened his jacket. That’s when he saw it.

There was a wide rip in his chest that was caved in to show a black heart. A heart that was burning to ash.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No…no, no, no! Crowley! Please, please! Hang on!”

He shut his eyes tight and pressed his hand on Crowley’s wound, but his face was hot and stinging with tears. He couldn’t concentrate. 

What was wrong? He couldn’t lift him and now he couldn’t even heal him! What good is an angel if they can’t—

Aziraphale felt a weak grip on his hand. He looked down, tears dripping down his nose and onto Crowley’s cheek.

The demon showed a weak grin and inhaled, his body shaking.

“Let it be, angel,” he whispered, his voice choking. 

Aziraphale held him closer. “Darling, no.” He shook his head again. “I can heal you; just hold on. Please, hold on! For me!”

“Shh,” Crowley swallowed hard and brought a frail hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. “It’sssssssss alright…my…beautiful…angellll…”

Aziraphale kissed his palm and held his hand to his chest.

He looked out of his rain-spattered window and glared at the dark sky.

“Please…” he whispered. “Take  _me_ …I’ll go in his place. I’m offering my self to you; you can do anything to me! Tear off my wings, burn me asunder, but please!” He squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter. “Not him...take me instead.”

“Angellll…” Crowley breathed. 

Aziraphale didn’t look at him, but pressed his lips to his hand again.

“Let it beee, my love…my…ang—”

His hand became limp in Aziraphale’s grasp. And then, there was a strong gust of wind.

Crowley’s weak hand disintegrated.

When Aziraphale looked again, the only thing in his arms was a leather jacket.

He wailed as he dropped to the floor and clutched the empty jacket to his chest.

“God, nooo! Why?” He glared at the sky again, heat rising in his belly and pulsing into his chest. “WHY?”

———————————–

He awoke with a start and nearly fell off the bed.

Aziraphale sat up and leaned forward, putting his face in his hands.

Is that what a nightmare was? Crowley had mentioned that he would occasionally  _dream_  while partaking of the activity of sleep, but he never spoke about anything like that.

Was it a nightmare…or was it a vision?”

He quietly slipped out of Crowley’s bed and went into the lavatory. He shut the door behind him and turned on the sink tap. He splashed cold water on his face to stave off more tears.

It didn’t work. He began to sob, muffling his cries with his hands.

A soft knock on the bathroom door startled him, but he it didn’t cease his crying.

“Angel?” came Crowley’s voice from the other side. “Angel, are you alright?”

Aziraphale let out a loud sigh, making Crowley crack open the door. 

“Darling, what happened?”

Aziraphale turned.

Crowley’s short hair was disheveled from their love-making. He had wrapped the sheet around his hips, and Aziraphale could see that his chest was unharmed. There was no gaping wound, no burning heart.

“Dear…?”

He fell into him and cried into his neck. 

Crowley squeezed him and kissed his forehead. “Oh, my angel,” he sighed. “What’s the matter?”

Aziraphale suddenly kissed him. “It’s you…” he whimpered against his lips. “My God…it’s…”

“You were expecting Roger Moore?” Crowley quipped with a grin.

This made Aziraphale smile and he kissed Crowley’s cheeks, shoulders, and lips. "Oh, dearest...you're okay."

Crowley led him back into bed where he continued to hold him. After a moment of quiet, he kissed his forehead again. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and took his hand. “You died,” he whispered, “rather…terribly.”

Crowley frowned and squeezed his hand. “What happened to me?”

“I-I don’t know.” Aziraphale paused to wipe his wet face with the sheet. He was quiet again and then he raised his eyes to him.

“Do you think they know?”

Crowley gazed back at him. “They?”

“You know who  _they_  are, dear.”

He sighed and squeezed Aziraphale closer. “Angel, it’s been two years since we started—”

“What if they…I mean, they could…” He pressed his face into Crowley’s neck again and cried.

Crowley stroked his angel’s tear-stained cheek. “If they  _do_ know, then…they’re taking their sweet time in letting us know it.”

Aziraphale sniffed and then, after a thoughtful moment, he nodded. “Yes…perhaps.”

He lifted Aziraphale’s chin and gently kissed him, his lips soft and chaste.

“Do you have any sherry?” Aziraphale asked. “I need something to…”

“No, but I’ve got brandy.” He handed the rest of the sheets to him and kissed him again.

“We’re alright, love,” he assured him, as he put on his dressing gown. 

“Just let it be, my angel.”


End file.
